Winter; Dvořák (Jan.1, 2016)

For Paul, who is a fan of Dvořák and sometimes of my poetry

The final movement
of Dvořák’s Ninth Symphony
makes me feel
small as the mouse
that skittered across my path
in the last hour
of another shadowless day,
and that’s okay.

It was a good temperature and humidity
for casting tire tracks
onto the snowy road
with four parallel tread-ridges
perfectly preserved with cross-hatches
in a herringbone pattern
expressing the negative space
of the grooved rubber.

The mouse and I hesitated
ever-so-briefly — a near miss —
and then each went on his way
on mammalian feet
into night, making quieter music
without horns, just cello breaths.


Published by

Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner

One thought on “Winter; Dvořák (Jan.1, 2016)”

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